Climate of change

Representatives of the Shell Chemical plant and Motiva Refinery in Norco sat down with their neighbors from surrounding communities last year in a formal process set up by the Environmental Protection Agency called the "Common Sense Initiative."

The idea was to open avenues of communication between the giant factories and the people who live close by, ideally leading to cooperation on issues ranging from pollution control to hiring.

According to participants and the group's final report, the industry officials went in feeling pretty confident they had the issues well in hand. They believed the main question was about communicating emergency alerts, and that on that front they were doing pretty well.

They quickly learned otherwise. Their assumptions, according to the group's report, were "myths."

Residents of the historic African-American community of Diamond, which abuts the chemical plant, complained that they were not well-informed, either about accidental chemical releases or, more generally, about plant activities. Some were angry that the plant had hurt their quality of life, lowered property values and not hired more residents.

The reactions of people in Diamond differed dramatically from those of the residents from the predominantly white surrounding neighborhoods, where many plant workers live, who said they were generally satisfied.

"There was an awakening that took place within the industry from that process," said Bob Thomas, the director of environmental communications at Loyola University, who ran the meetings as a facilitator. "They had the realization that they have been missing the boat for a long time on community issues. They always felt they were good citizens because they gave money to the Audubon Zoo, to parks. They started to realize they were coming to work, doing their jobs, and people on the fence line were hurting and they weren't doing anything about it."

Since then, the community-industry discussion has been institutionalized in monthly meetings. Shell also has reached out in other ways, including sponsoring classes designed to give residents more job- hunting skills.

"There is more communication now between Shell and the community," said Diamond resident Percy Hollins, who participated in the committee's initiative to upgrade evacuation routes. "That's good, because there was non-communication before."

--- Seeds of change ---

There are hints of change emerging in the often-polarized relationships between poor and African-American communities around Louisiana and the industries nearby.

A decade of protests, pressure from the federal government and expanded access to pollution data and regulatory levers are pushing industries to start paying more attention to the concerns of the close neighbors that they once largely ignored.

"I believe we are going through a watershed period," said Don Baker, Shell's external relations manager, who participated in the meetings. "Institutions or organizations that operate in isolation do not serve the public, and the public suffers the consequences when competing interests cannot be resolved. Businesses should participate in a state like Louisiana where we have significant disparities between black and white."

So far, the openings are small and tentative, confined mostly to modest community programs and an airing of views from all sides, often overseen by professional facilitators. But these discussions may presage a larger debate over the changing role of industries in community life in Louisiana and elsewhere.

Community groups are pushing for more control over development decisions, perhaps a veto over plant expansions and other high-stakes projects. Failing that, they want to see tighter pollution controls and accountability. They want more local investment, with firmer commitments to hire local people, invest in schools and other programs.

--- Cautiousness by industries ---

Industries take a more cautious line. They emphasize opening avenues of communication, hoping to defuse the anger and frustration that has built up in many poor and minority communities. They also aim to respond to concrete concerns about issues such as emergency preparedness that affect public safety and potential liability. But they are willing to go only so far in yielding power over their economic and regulatory decisions, or where they direct their resources.

They also say there is an inherent limit to how much they can do. It's difficult, they say, to make a commitment to hire people from communities with low education levels, for example.

"These are high-tech, continuous operation plants that need a high level of comprehension and ability to operate," said Dan Borne, president of the Louisiana Chemical Association. "We've gone into the school systems and given them the requirements we need. We've gone to computer schools, technical schools, we have done everything but open up our own schools in the parishes. We have funded trade schools and set up training programs. I don't know what else we can do."

Still, the landscape is changing. Environmental groups give a lot of credit to right-to-know laws that require industries to make public the data on how much pollution they are releasing into the air, water and soil. With that information, local groups have been given a powerful tool to hold industries accountable.

"Before toxic data reporting, they would tell us the stuff coming out of the smokestacks was steam," said New Iberia chemist Wilma Subra, who works with community groups. "They'd be sitting on the other side of the fence saying there's no problem."

The trend toward openness has created a climate where residents are more likely to be included in environmental decisions.

"Ten years ago, I don't think EPA would have called a meeting with citizens," said Marylee Orr, president of the Louisiana Environmental Action Network. "The dynamics, the dialogue has changed and citizens have really demanded accountability, and I don't think industry or government can ignore them anymore."

--- Suspicions about candor ---

Some groups have gone a step further. Because the state allows plants to self-report emissions, many local people suspect they aren't getting the whole story.

Hollins, the Diamond resident, is the keeper of the "bucket" -- a contraption provided by the California-based Communities for a Better Environment that allows him to capture air samples. Hollins says any time he smells something bad, he takes the bucket out, turns on a vacuum pump, takes a sample and ships it off to the lab. Often it shows trace amounts of toxic chemicals that can give inspectors something to go on.

Residents also complain that the regulatory system doesn't account for the cumulative effects of emissions from plants clustered together. Industry representatives concede they have a point.

With proposals for new industries a sensitive topic these days, companies are being forced to respond. Sometimes that means trying to thwart the potential opposition. St. James Parish activist Pat Melancon says that after Shintech Inc. decided not to build its $700 million chemical plant in her area in the face of protests, local and state officials and companies became more secretive about permit applications.

Shintech, however, has taken an opposite tack. The Japanese-owned company is now building a chemical plant in Plaquemine due for completion next year. After pulling the plug on its original proposal, the company went back to the drawing board. It reduced the size of the plant and agreed to integrate its operations with the Dow Chemical plant. Dow agreed to reduce its emissions so the new combined operations would not add additional toxins to the air.

Shintech then hired facilitators and went through a six-month public participation process before it bought land or applied for environmental permits. After collecting 950 comments, the company followed through on several suggestions from nearby residents.

Residents of Choctaw Road said they were worried about the absence of a good emergency evacuation route, so the company got a $5.4 million appropriation from the state Legislature to build a new road out of the area. The company also decided not to put its main entrance on heavily traveled Louisiana 1, and agreed to construct a swath of green space to address aesthetic concerns.

--- Introduction to community ---

Shintech also made a commitment to hire as many local people as possible -- though without a quota -- for its 50 permanent jobs and to set up training programs to teach basic scientific and technical skills required of operators at the plant.

"I think the process we used in siting the facility is a fantastic way to introduce yourself to a community and formulate a better project," said David Wise, the new plant's manager. "What we learned from our earlier experience is that the community wants to have a say in the process. I think this should be a model for how facilities are sited. Because of the community's involvement we ended up with a better project, not just for the community but for Shintech."

The scene is also changing nationally. As groups apply newfound political leverage to industries and government agencies, they are sometimes finding themselves sitting at the negotiating table instead of shouting from a picket line outside the building.

In Hartford, Conn., for example, a community development organization called ONE/CHANE Inc. helped residents fight a proposed addition to a regional landfill in a neighborhood that is overwhelmingly African- American, Hispanic and poor. The group did a study showing that all the region's dumps were in Hartford, which has a 70 percent minority population, and none in the predominantly white, affluent suburbs surrounding the city.

The group rallied community organizations around the state and filed a federal civil rights complaint against the state government for approving the expansion.

Then the dispute took an unusual twist.

The quasi-public agency that ran the landfill responded to complaints about odors, methane leaks and other problems and spent $13 million in improvements. Then it invited ONE/CHANE to negotiate. The two sides hashed out their differences, eventually reaching an agreement: The dump could raise its height by 30 feet, and the group would get $9 million for community programs.

Community groups and industry representatives say the key to cooperation may be setting up a formal process in which people on opposing sides can get together and air their differences. Even if they don't trust one another, if they trust the process they may be able to reach an agreement -- or at least agree to disagree.

But in Louisiana, some may never be satisfied with the proliferation of heavy industry, pollution and heavily affected communities.

In Diamond, for example, many residents are still bitter over what they see as a legacy of indifference from Shell. For years, the company has been buying up properties in Diamond and surrounding areas, trying to create a buffer zone. But many residents say the company has been paying too little, and considerably less than for homes in the predominantly white areas nearby. Shell is currently conducting a new property assessment.

"God did not create people to be treated separate due to the color of their skin," said Margie Richard, the president of the Concerned Citizens of Norco, a group that has been pushing for a group buyout. "That includes the right to enjoy your own front yard without the ground vibrating and shaking."

Companies may be compelled to spend more money on communities and talk over their plans with residents, but that doesn't change the bottom line.

"People feel the best benefit is a safer community, with less toxics," said Orr of the Louisiana Environmental Action Network. "They would rather the companies spend less money on public relations and more on reducing pollution. Sometimes communities benefit by gifts, but they have come to realize they are still getting tons of toxic chemicals in their air. The price is high for that little compensation."